water in the fields. the wind pours down.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

i'd been riding all day,riding past the windows with their sales and engines,the sad-voiced speakers touting tuberous wonders.

riding next to nothing with the bank clacked in it.riding down the highway wherethe shapes of chairs repeat like clack-clackerly,velveted, doused in musk and extrinsic tastes.tied down with bows the size of mule sides.

blown. fully. cross-roaded.

i rode down a crankhole, rustled me up some shankbratch,dirty as any drippled touseling thing.rode me into town and routed me out a slink and some milk.

held off on the whisting, the whiloming, the ankle-strappedambergris god with the plating like bitlip platinum honey-smearedhoney-glazed lip. i rode in to see him but i brought himnothingand for that he speared me,

Saturday, August 23, 2008

you were my next-to-last,or next-next-to-last. heart laid away,countered, stitched into sachet like driedcranberries in a pocket, picking uplint.

space space.

period.space space.

2.razed and cracked:the five-point day that ever iswhen night is not. like a dry horse,galloping and wheezing.

open your eyes, my first love.open your eyes on your shelf of silver and bronzestaring out the rough-rimmed eye-holes of a maskthe texture of corn-husks. memories thatmake me feel dead. like sand in the sockfist

of love. space space.

period.of love. space.

3.change is eitherall we haveor all we require,

my last love, my apocryphal diamond.

i anticipate you with the fervorof liquid.of coal, melting, melted, liquid. heavy at the wristand lidwith love of you.

Friday, August 15, 2008

swansdown packed into a banked shell--the excesses and impositions ofcracking. pellucid walls breaking up like jericho's.

it's just a song on the radio, you jerk, you think,quite lucidly--a sluice of light, a ream packed infrom head to bottom--the last temptations of

control and denial.

just a song, so why this...nonsense...burstingalmost next to nothing, featheringacross the senses, white and so light, packing inagainst the eyes, the nose, the tongue and lips,against the ears, every available inch of epidermis.

Monday, August 11, 2008

things are weird in my head. not that this is particularly unusual. not ever having anyone else's head, i can't say how weird they are on anything but a personal scale. personally, they're moderately weird. i ate a lot of pickles recently; that might have something to do with it.

allerseelen

it was the best evening ever:we took our jackets from the stone hinges they hanged fromthey bellied like sails as we put them on.

we snuck under formerly sound fences,snapping our teeth into living necks.we stared at sour grapes hanging up above our snoutsthey were green like temptation and they also made a snap.

we raised white fronts to the moon.white as the caps of waves. we were never not in motion,our backs undulant as cherry-skin, downy like silvery peaches,breathing in air ricocheting direct from grassy plains,rocks, roots, the bones we left fresh behind.

our feet no longer lead, no longer clay,our skulls grace-filled beyond comprehension,because filled with our breath.the luck of the bone in the drying day is negligible

we prefer the belly of the night, night shroudnight esophagus, night when day is not,the night bells, the sweet sound